Agent Double O Hex
by KafkaExMachina
Summary: A "tragic" accident leaves young Harry in the care of a relative that nobody knew existed. It seems Lily Evans had an Uncle named Edmund Bond who had a son he called James.
1. Dursleyfinger

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Company are wholly owned by J.K. Rowling et. al. I am making no profit from their work. James Bond and associated characters were originally owned by Ian Fleming and are now owned by whomever.

**Chapter 1: Dursleyfinger  
**

* * *

Albus Dumbledore searched frantically through the Ministry records in his hands. He couldn't believe the report that Amos Diggory delivered earlier that week. The Dursleys decided to take a family vacation that morning and somehow managed to get crushed by a frozen ball of waste that fell from a passing jet. Horrified that the Boy-Who-Lived shared his relatives' fate Albus was relieved to note that his tiny body was not amongst the wreckage. Still, Harry hadn't turned up anywhere in the muggle protective services and his monitors showed that Harry was still residing within the rapidly decaying wards. Curious as to why Harry hadn't accompanied his family when he was only seven, Albus apparated to the Dursley residence. Finding the door locked and his knocks unanswered, Albus magicked the door open and began searching the house for the boy. He fumed at the memory of the tiny malnourished child locked in a closet underneath the stairs. He'd quickly delivered the starving lad into Poppy's care, but a more permanent residence would have to be found. Worse yet, Albus had to listen to five hours of Minerva ranting at him about his carelessness and why he should have listened to her about those horrible muggles in the first place. While he admitted that Minnie certainly had a point, her incessant scolding made the task of searching for a blood-relative of Harry's on his mother's side even more taxing.

"Albus?" queried a voice from his office floo.

Albus stopped pacing and faced the fireplace. "Come in," he said. Seconds later Remus Lupin staggered into his office in a burst of green flame. "Do you have any good news for me?" Albus asked.

Remus glared at his former headmaster. "I'm still very displeased with your decision to place Harry with Lily's sister. You knew exactly what-"

Albus held up his hand to cut off the werewolf's rant. "I know, I know. News first, recriminations afterwards. Have you found anything?"

Remus nodded. "It seems that Lily had a first cousin on her mother's side that she didn't know about."

Dumbledore let out a sigh of relief. "Is this cousin acceptable?"

The werewolf shuffled his feet a bit. "Well… that's a bit of a question. It seems Lily didn't know about the cousin because he's listed as deceased in almost every muggle record."

Albus' eyebrows raised in surprise. "I take it that our man isn't as dead as the records claim?"

Remus nodded. "That's the thing. I had to dig pretty deep and use up some impressive favors, but it turns out he's working for some unknown department in Her Majesty's Secret Service."

"Well, that certainly is an interesting revelation. Fortunately I have a few connections there myself dating back to my time fighting Grindelwold." Albus laid a reassuring hand on Remus' shoulder. "Don't worry Remus, this time I'll make sure that the boy is taken care of." Remus shrugged off the headmasters hand.

"I'll believe that when I meat his new guardian." Remus glared at the old man. "You will allow me to visit the boy; we've seen what your 'let the boy be raised without interference' turned into."

Albus nodded humbly. "Yes, I suppose that between Poppy, Minnie, and yourself I shall be reminded quite firmly of my mistakes for years to come."

"You've got that right," Remus grumbled.

"Well, I've got to contact my old friends. They are very particular about privacy so I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

With one last accusatory glare Remus flooed out of the office. Albus sat heavily down in his chair. "I do wonder how M is doing these days. It's been a while since I stopped by for a spot of tea."

* * *

James Bond casually strolled through the halls of MI-5. He didn't feel the least bit of concern over M's summons. There was a spot of curiosity though, as he couldn't for the life of him recall doing anything destructive enough to warrant a personal lecture. He shrugged internally guessing that they'd managed to uncover something or the other that he'd done and they'd missed.

He stepped into M's office as soon as the automatic door swung open. Keeping the surprise off of his face, Bond visually interrogated the unexpected figure standing next to his supervisor. Ancient, most likely quite mad judging from his tastes in clothing, likes to portray himself as a grandfatherly figure, most likely fitting the profile of a shadowy manipulator who hides himself in a cloak of beneficence. Bond's hand moved subtly towards one of his concealed firearms.

"Do sit down Mr. Bond," M commanded. James took a seat that allowed him a clear arc of fire at the stranger while minimizing the chances that he'd plug his boss. He barely, just barely, managed to hide his expression when he noticed the man's eyes twinkling at him. 'What the bloody hell?' he thought to himself. He waited for M to speak.

"James, I have some bad news," M said gravely. "It appears your cousin Petunia passed away recently. You have the department's condolences." Bond shrugged off M's practiced sympathy. The old man raised a single white eyebrow at James' nonchalance but M, knowing her agent, continued blithely on. "It would appear that Petunia was the caretaker for her sister's child." Bond nodded. "Mr. Dumbledore here," M gestured at the old man, "has come to me regarding a very important matter. We know each other from operations taken in the XX commission. He's come to me asking for help. Would you like to clarify for Mr. Bond, Albus?" She nodded to the dodgy coot.

The old man cleared his throat. "Thank you M. For reasons I am not at liberty to disclose it is imperative that young Harry Potter live in close proximity with a blood relative of his mother's. Unfortunately Mr. Bond, it would appear that you are the last remaining candidate."

James raised his eyebrow at M. M nodded. "Your next mission, if you choose to accept it," M said, "is to take care of Mr. Potter until Mr. Dumbledore retrieves young Harry for his education." Dumbledore and M looked to Bond expectantly.

"No," he replied. He noticed M smothering a grin.

"I beg you to reconsider," Albus said.

"Allow me to clarify my answer. No way in bloody hell. I refuse change my job description to 'nanny.' I haven't the foggiest clue how to raise a sprog and I have absolutely no intentions of learning."

Albus gave M a long-suffering glace. "M," he said quietly, "this is necessary in a way you couldn't possibly understand."

M curtly nodded. "Very well Mr. Dumbledore. Mr. Bond, I would have preferred if you'd accepted the mission but since you've made up your mind I've no choice but to order you to take care of the boy."

Bond's eyes widened dangerously. "And what exactly am I supposed to do with the tyke when I'm off performing your various and sundries?"

M frowned sadly. "As of this moment you are currently removed from the duty-pool until such time as you have discharged your responsibility." James began to flush in anger unable to control his reaction. His hand strayed dangerously close to his firearm.

Dumbledore quickly picked up on Mr. Bond's mood. "Now that I've had my say, M, may I take leave of your office?" M nodded serenely ignoring the smoking power keg sitting across from her. "Very good. We must get together some time for tea. Just like the old days?"

M smiled. "Of course Albus, just like the old days." Albus smiled back and meandered out of the office. Before he left the door he said, "Oh, Mr. Bond? Harry's already here and he's looking forward to meeting you. Good day!"

Bond grumbled and grouched under his breath while M serenely sipped her tea for seven minutes. M put her teacup down. "He's clear James and the room's clean." James Bond dropped the petulant agent act immediately. "What is your take on this?" M asked him.

"Mr. Dumbledore is a class W, isn't he?" Bond asked coolly.

M nodded.

"He's feeding us quite a line of shit without lying once, isn't he?"

M nodded again.

"You have the full story," Bond deadpanned.

M smiled.

"Mind filling me in?"

For the next thirty minutes M provided Bond with a detailed synopsis of Lord Voldemort, the wizard community as a whole and the hooplah surrounding Harry. James sat stoically throughout the debriefing.

"I assume that young Mr. Potter is also a class W?" Bond asked. M nodded and sipped a fresh cup of tea. For a moment James looked melancholy. "I want a full psych profile done on the lad. Petunia," Bond said with utter contempt, "wasn't a terribly good person."

M smiled. "We're doing a physical and psych eval on the boy as we speak."

"Good. If I'm going to baby-sit I at least want to know what I'm in for. Since the kid's most likely facing a nasty group when he grows up, what training had Mr. Dumbledore set up for the lad?"

M frowned slightly. "None. He seems convinced that the boy should grow up ignorant of his family history. Additionally the wizard community holds onto some barbaric and ignorant customs."

"Shit," Bond spat, "this assignment gets better by the moment. I assume it's related to the racial supremacy hogwash?" M nodded. "Permission to speak freely?" M waved her approval. "Mr. Dumbledore is a right bastard. Bugger his manipulations if I've got to raise a brat I'm going to bloody well raise him my way."

M smiled widely. "I was hoping you'd say that Mr. Bond."

* * *

James Bond found himself nursing both a martini and a headache. He gulped down his drink and motioned the bartender to make another. While he was pleased at how quickly Harry adapted to his training, there were some lessons he wished Harry hadn't picked up. Such as demolitions. Especially demolitions involving micro-charges and toilets. He swore bloody vengeance on Q for teaching the boy how to expertly booby-trap a bathroom. His arse still hurt. James mused on how quickly the last couple of years passed.

Keeping the boy was simple. He was unfailingly polite and looked at everything with wide wondering eyes. The boy's problems became blatantly obvious after he'd left the boy at the flat for the day (James had to 'clean up a mess'). By the time he dragged his bruised body back to the apartment he nearly fainted. It was spotless. Even a few of the stains his maid couldn't touch had vanished. To make matters worse when James inspected a few of his secret compartments he found them similarly cleaned, including the firearms inside. James walked silently to Harry's room and found him fast asleep, curled into a tight ball with an angelic smile on his face. The next couple nights proved that Harry's actions were not a singular occurrence; rather they appeared to be his standard operating procedure.

This would not do; the maid would have his head.

He quickly decided that the best solution involved taking Harry to MI-5 headquarters and letting him learn what he could. It turned out to be a most satisfactory decision as the boy's inquisitive nature, unfailing politeness, sweet disposition and of course stunning green eyes quickly made him a favorite guest of whichever department he wandered into. James mused that Harry probably held the title of youngest person in history to possess a class XX clearance. The intelligence office even issued him his own number: 00x0. Double-O hex. He'd restrained himself from shooting the tech geek who explained the joke. Damn nerd puns.

Considering the evidence indicating a horrific amount of negligence both James and the doctors treating Harry were amazed by how rapidly he shed the disabling social and emotional traits he'd gained from his stay with the Dursleys. The only truly negative trait the boy stubbornly retained was a sort of intellectual laziness not befitting his capabilities. James smiled at the memory. It took M fifteen minutes to accomplish what he and several others failed at for months. Harry remained extraordinarily tight-lipped over the incident, making James consider the very likely scenario of M holding a gun to the boy's head while explaining what is and is not acceptable in one of her charges.

James shook his head. While he'd decided to train Harry in his own craft in order to facilitate 'familial bonding' as the doctors put it, M directed Harry over to some class W agents working with the office for the training James couldn't provide. The results almost frightened the seasoned agent, but then Harry was part of the family so some traits must have proved true.

He snickered to himself drawing a concerned look from the bartender. It seemed the only thing Harry fell flat on was picking up the subtle art of seduction. Not that he wanted his ten-year-old charge to go out and start picking up married women, but considering the lads instinctive ability to cause women of all ages to fall over themselves fawning over him… James couldn't believe Harry still stammered and blushed under the attention. On the other hand, that did seem to prolong the affection.

James grinned. Maybe his boy wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

M smiled happily at James Bond. "Double o' seven, I have another mission for you. Our intelligence reports that The Dentist is expected to attend a grand ball hosted by the International Orthodontists for Humanity." Bond nodded. The Dentist was a world-renowned mercenary notorious for his creative uses of common dental tools, hence the handle. "The mission parameters are to contact The Dentist and bring him in for questioning." M stared at James. "You shall not harm him, Bond. This is a possible recruitment operation and you will not jeopardize our goals with your standard behavior." Bond mentally snorted. "Is that understood?" M asked. Bond nodded. "Our agents have determined that The Dentist will be accompanied by his family, so as part of your cover I expect you to bring double o' hex with you. Hopefully the boy's presence will curb your more flashy tendencies."

James snorted. It occurred to him that M wasn't as omniscient as her position implied if she thought that Harry's presence would encourage subtlety. M glared at Bond. "Is there a problem, Mr. Bond?"

James shook his head. "No, no, no problem at all."

"Excellent. You will find everything you need in this packet." She handed a large envelope to Bond. He accepted it, stood up, and left the office.

* * *

Initially, the operation went off without a hitch. Bond and Harry quickly blended in with the surrounding crowd, easily befuddling the massed dentists with their clever wit and well established background. Soon enough Bond spotted The Dentist and his family. Just as the profile said, The Dentist appeared as no more than a normal middle-aged professional, albeit a fit one. His wife was a beautiful woman who certainly did not look her thirty years, but it appeared that genetics were not as kind to their daughter. She was scrawny with untamable brown bushy hair, average enough that her buck teeth and wild hair coupled with her slightly bossy bearing overwhelmed any prepubescent beauty. A quick glance at his partner for the night determined that his 'nephew' found her cute enough. He motioned Harry over. Harry nodded, and set about distracting the family. His charm, wit, and flashing green eyes made short work of the females. Bond waited until The Dentist made his way to the lavatory before following.

_Click._ "The Dentist, I presume?" Bond said as he placed his Walther PPK to The Dentist's head. The Dentist froze and put his hands into the air.

"I see you have me at a disadvantage. May I inquire as to the name of the individual so rudely pointing a gun at my head?" The Dentist asked calmly.

"Bond. James Bond."

_Click_. 'Bugger,' James Bond thought.

"Well, Mr. Bond, may I inquire as to why you are pointing a gun at my husband's head?" The Dentist's wife asked pointedly, nudging the gun gently against the back of Bond's skull.

_Click._ 'Bugger,' The Dentist's wife thought.

"Before he answers that question, would you mind removing the gun you've placed against my Uncle's head?" Harry said coolly, gently reinforcing his words with a slight pressure from the end of his Walther PPK.

_Click._ 'Bugger,' Harry Potter thought.

"I think perhaps that you and your Uncle should reconsider your actions and remove your own implements of destruction from my parents' craniums," commanded a high-pitch bossy girl's voice as she dug the barrel of her pistol into Harry's noggin.

"I do believe that we have ourselves both a Mexican standoff and a touching family moment. Whatever are we going to do now, Mr. Bond?" The Dentist said mildly.

"I'm still working on that," James replied.

"I've got a better idea," the bushy-haired one said. "_Attonbitamus procuratorae_!" The world went black for Potter and Bond.

They woke up in the men's room a few hours later with equally screaming headaches. Bond's displeasure at the events found itself drowned out by the evident ire Harry held towards The Dentist's daughter.

"Uncle, I don't give a damn about The Dentist," Harry spat. "If we ever run across that girl again I swear to you that bitch is mine!"

James Bond swallowed the obvious comeback.

* * *

Harry and Bond spent the rest of Harry's tenth year in an eventful blur of training, missions, and other bonding matters. Time and time again the pair was tasked with the apprehension of The Dentist and company. Time and time again they were thwarted by carefully laid traps or the daughter's magical agility. For every new skill Harry learned, it appeared the Bushy-Haired Setback (as M took to fondly calling her) either already knew a counter or quickly formulated one. After the seventeenth such encounter, Bond had established an odd rapport with The Dentist and his wife, born of mutual amusement and pride at their charges' antics. Harry and the Bushy-Haired setback, on the other hand, established an intense mutual animosity. After once again escaping a ridiculously over-complicated and slow death-trap Harry's green eyes locked into the Bushy-Haired Setback's brown. At the same time they swore in their minds: 'On this day, July 30th 1991, I swear to whoever is listening that the next time we meet **things will be different**!'

From Hogwarts Owlrey a nondescript pair of owls winged towards the greater London area bearing letters written in green ink bearing the seal of Hogwarts Academy of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

* * *

A\N: I came up with this story years ago but never bothered to write it as more than a basic outline. I know the basic premise isn't _that_ unique, but I hope I've made it different enough to make it worth reading. Note: I don't do the whole 'let's re-write each and every book starting from book one in an equal amount of words until I burn out somewhere around book three and quit.' Expect books one, two and three to take up a chapter each. At most. Frankly prepubescent super-spies are kind of boring. Depending on what you, the **reviewers** say, I'll fast forward to the point that you feel most comfortable with standard Bond-level hormones(Not until year four at the earliest… sorry pervs I've got this thing where I just don't like thinking about tweens shagging). It's Harry/Hermione (mostly), but Harry isn't the only one with an altered background…

More fun: Due to the fact that Harry was a wee-sprat during the eighties, that means that this story's Bond is played by Sean Connery. Regardless, I'm intensionally leaving his description out in order to allow the reader to substitute whichever Bond they please. Even the blond one, you bloody heretics (joking, please let me live). I will be mercilessly butchering elements from all the Bond stories and movies I want.


	2. From Voldemort with Love

**Chapter 2: From Voldemort with Love**

* * *

Harry slammed the beefy Death Eater into the wall with a hasty Banishing spell. The huge bastard who'd waylaid Harry while he was draining the lizard just refused to go down. The man staggered to his feet and rushed at Harry. Harry couldn't leap out of the way fast enough and found himself crushed in a powerful bear hug.

"So I guess this is how the famous Boy-Who-Lived dies?" The man taunted as he tightened his rib-cracking hold. "Not as tough as I'd expected from a lad who killed the Dark Lord as a baby. Must have been a fluke!"

Harry's vision began to waver, grey spots appearing due to the lack of oxygen. He cursed his stupidity. The attack come so quickly he hadn't had the time to grab on of the 'Kippers' that R&W so thoughtfully provided him. He'd no idea why they named the disposable wands that, but they were horribly useful. Somehow R&W managed to whip together a single-use wand the size of a toothpick that could focus a single AK before disintegrating, leaving no trace of the spell or its caster. Since the British magical community held a barbaric disdain for the single most effective and clean killing spell ever invented, the class-W agents of Her Majesty's Secret Service often carried scads of the things, and Harry was no exception.

He gritted his teeth against the pain, kicking and writhing in the deadly embrace. Not only was the pain unbearable but the man smelled like old cheese and unwashed socks. In desperation he slammed his small head into the man's mouth, lacerating his scalp on his antagonist's teeth. In the split second that the man howled and loosened his grip, Harry managed to draw his wand and hiss '_Reducto_'. The fat Death Eater's head exploded in a shower of brains and blood. Released from the grip, Harry slid painfully onto the floor beside his headless foe.

He'd been set up, and from the looks of things he'd been betrayed by somebody inside MI-5. Knowing that time was of the essence, Harry staggered to his feet and Vanished the rapidly cooling body and the large puddle of blood underneath it. Only the cracked sinks and shattered johns remained as evidence. He forced himself towards the office of Agent Macnair.

After an agonizing eternity Harry found himself at the office door. He quickly slipped a 'kipper' between his thumb and forefinger. Harry flung the door open and stared painfully at his trainer, mentor and friend. He searched the man's features, trying to discern why his superior betrayed him.

"Ah, young Potter… I see you've made your first kill. Don't worry, it gets easier the second –"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Numbly, Harry walked away, leaving the rapidly cooling body sitting behind the desk.

o/' Bond trumpet riff o/'

He walked into M's office without asking permission. As he opened the door he heard his uncle yelling, "-that's bloody ridiculous! M, he's just a boy! He's not even eleven yet for Christ's sake! What were you thinking?"

"Mr. Bond that is enough," M stated calmly. "We know we have a leak and unfortunately Harry has the best chance of finding our rat." Her voice softened. "I know you are worried about the lad but we don't have a choice. I'm afraid Mr. Potter is going to face –"

Harry coughed, announcing his presence. M and Bond stared at Harry's torn clothing, battered face, bruised arms clutching his ribs and his cold, hollow eyes. "It was Macnair," he said flatly.

M stared straight at Harry with stern eyes. Harry returned her gaze without flinching. "I assume the matter is dealt with?" She asked in an emotionless voice.

Harry nodded. "Mr. Macnair is in his office right now. I feel the need for some R&R. Good day, M, Uncle," Harry said emotionlessly. He turned to leave the office without asking.

"Agent Potter," M said in commanding tones. Harry froze without turning to face her. "Good work." Harry nodded once and walked out the door. M turned to Bond. "Give him a little time, James. You remember how it was your first time." Bond sighed and gave her a small nod.

* * *

Harry arrived at Platform Nine and Three Quarters via portkey hours before the crowds. His 'Uncle' wasn't overly pleased with the idea of letting Harry board the train alone but M assured Bond that it was the best course. The previous day Q outfitted Harry with all of his school supplies, including some useful extras whipped up by the R&W department. "It still bothers me that I can't give you any of my toys," Q whined to Harry, "but I suppose it's for the best if they won't work at Hogwarts. Do you remember how to set off C-4 when electronics don't work?" Harry nodded. "Oh good! Well, head over to the door that only you class-W types can see and let them equip you properly." Harry nodded after giving his favorite old man a great big hug. Q blushed at the gentle teasing of his assistants. "Oh get back to work you lot," Q halfheartedly chided as Harry left to gather the rest of his gear. Harry didn't need to pick up a wand, of course, as he'd had several custom-designed by the R&W department. "A Wizard's best friend is a good wand," the shadowy tech had said, "and for Agent 007's nephew only the best will suffice." Needless to say, Harry had backup wands for his backup wands stashed throughout his luggage and his person. He preferred his holly-and-phoenix feather wand over all the rest.

Harry decided immediately that portkey travel was distinctly unpleasant. Swallowing back vomit he scanned the platform for threats. The only dangerous individual was a startled auror, who quickly recognized the student and waved him towards the train. Harry nodded to the man and easily carted his trunk onto the Hogwarts Express. He'd wanted an owl but his Uncle explained all of the different methods both magical and muggle an owl could be traced. Harry grumbled but couldn't disagree. He decided to leave off purchasing a pet until better options became available. Ignoring the gaping conductor, Harry meandered through the train cars until he found a nondescript compartment located in a car halfway to the caboose. Harry stowed his gear in an overhead cubby and sat down to read. He'd found quite a bit of enjoyment perusing the delightful bit of fiction known as _Hogwarts, a History_. Oddly enough, M had been the one to fill Harry in on the many and varied nuances of Hogwarts thousand year history. While Harry found a certain terrified comfort at the idea that M knew practically everything about practically everything, her easy familiarity with this particular bit of information left him oddly suspicious.

* * *

"Excuse me; all of the other compartments are taken. May I…" A familiar voice broke Harry's concentration. "You," the intruder spat out. Harry looked up to see his nemesis, The Bushy-Haired Setback standing in the doorway. She calmly entered the compartment, closed the door, stowed her trunk and then launched herself at him. The pair began fighting in earnest, each showing the other their early mastery of martial arts.

* * *

Ron walked around the train desperately searching for a place to sit. He tested one of the doors, and after finding it unlocked he pushed it open only to have the door forcefully slammed shut. He shook his hand. 'Bloody rude,' he thought, 'bloody well should have locked the door.'

* * *

Harry staggered back to his feet from The Bushy-Haired Setback's expert body-slam into the door. He threw a knuckle-punch, catching her in her sternum and forcing her to fall back as she caught her breath. Pressing the advantage Harry was about to launch a devastating axe-kick to her head when he heard a knock at the door. Instantly the two straightened their clothing while flinging themselves into opposite seats. They glared at each other while the door opened.

A blond boy in high quality robes stood in the doorway, flanked by two dense looking goons. "I heard that Harry Potter was on the train," he drawled as he glanced around the compartment. His eyes settled on the female, "but he's obviously not here. He certainly would show better… taste… in traveling companions."

"You've got that right," Harry sniggered drawing a baleful glare from The Bushy-Haired Setback.

Blondie grinned. "You and I should become close friends. The name's Draco Malfoy," he drawled, "and I see you have the appropriate opinion about the worth of," Draco spat out the word with venom, "mudbloods –" Malfoy found his sentence interrupted by Harry's fist reorganizing the delicate structure of Draco's nose, knocking the blond-haired git flat on his back. The goons were too surprised to move.

Harry stood over Draco, wand pointed straight at his heart. "You should re-evaluate your opinions," Harry said in an emotionless voice. "People who talk that way have a tendency to suffer… accidents. Not that I mind, of course, as people like you are the reason why I lost my parents." The tip of his wand glowed green.

Draco whimpered and scuttled back. He gathered himself back together and glared at his goons, who quickly helped Draco to his feet. Sneering, Draco asked, "And who are you to strike a scion of The Most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy."

Harry stared straight through Draco, sending cold spikes into his slimy little stomach. "The name's Potter. Harry Potter."

* * *

Harry was quite displeased. After he and the Bushy-Haired Setback decided on a temporary truce, he'd rather desired to leave her company. Unfortunately, he found himself stuck on a rickety boat with her, a red-headed boy, and a nervous looking chap. Harry ignored their attempts at conversation while he glared at the girl, the two of them fighting down the urge to drown the other. After a long ride through a dark tunnel, they arrived at a great chamber. The four disembarked and moved to join the rest of the new students. Harry started when he heard a stern voice call out, "First years, this way!"

'No, it couldn't be…' he thought. He looked at the speaker. The voice belonged to a frightfully stern woman dressed in black robes and a pointy hat. A pair of old fashioned spectacles perched on her nose and she favored the students with a strict stare. 'M?' Harry thought wildly, desperately concealing his surprise.

"My name is Minerva McGonagall," the stern woman said, "and I am the Assistant Headmistress and Transfiguration professor here at Hogwarts. It is time for your Sorting. You will be placed in one of the four houses of Hogwarts, and your housemates will become your family for the next seven years. Good behavior and prudent study will earn your house points; Poor behavior will cost you house points and earn you detentions. The house with the most points will win the house cup at the end of the year, so you had best behave and represent your fellow students! Now, form two lines and follow me."

In his shock, Harry didn't notice that he was forced next to the Bushy-Haired Setback in line. Her grumbling quickly brought him back to his unpleasant present. 'I bet that nasty bitch is going to wind up in Slytherin,' he thought vengefully.

Professor McGonagall lead the students into the Great Hall. He absently noted the impressive charms work done to the ceiling, remembering to gape in astonishment. He felt a tiny bit impressed by his brown-eyed nemesis as she pulled off the same deception. Unfortunately, he wound up sitting next to her at the Sorting table. They subtly glared at each other during the Headmaster's speech. He blinked when the Headmistress brought out a ratty old hat and placed it on a stool. He blinked again when said head-wear formed a face out of wrinkles and sang a silly song. After the song ended, McGonagall stood up holding a length of parchment.

"When your name is called, sit on the stool and wear the hat. It will sort you into your new House."

The red-headed boy whispered to the pudgy, nervous lad beside him. "That's it? All we have to do is wear a hat? My brothers told me we'd have to wrestle a troll…"

Harry smiled to himself. He'd had to do worse than that during basic training. One by one the children at the table stood up when their names were called. Harry busied himself burning their faces and names into his memory. Each time a name was called, the student in question put the hat on their head, a House was called out and the student went to their new House's table while their Housemates applauded.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Harry couldn't help smiling when the evil girl stood up and confidently walked to the stool. 'Finally,' Harry thought maliciously, 'I've got her name. Even if it's an alias it'll help my Uncle nail those bastards!' He snorted internally. 'Hermione indeed. She's no flower, that's for sure.'

"**Slyth**-hackcoughcoughhackcough-**Gryffindor**!" The Great Hall fell into a stunned silence. Hermione primly removed the hat (Harry noted that she smacked it a few times, pretending to dust it off, while putting it down), and walked confidently to the Gryffindor table despite the silence. Finally, the stunned lions gave her a polite round of applause. After a few more seconds, McGonagall continued calling names and the hat continued sorting students.

"Potter, Harry!"

The Great Hall erupted into shouts and applause as Harry stood up and walked towards the rickety stool. Without waiting for the noise to calm down, he picked up the hat, plopped himself on the stool, and dropped the hat onto his head.

He almost jumped off the stool when he heard a voice in his head.

_Merlin's beard there's another one?_

'Erm, excuse me, I'm assuming you are the Sorting Hat?' Harry thought.

_As quick on the uptake, too. Well, lets take a better look here. Hmmm… yes, you definitely belong in Slytherin. Lots of cunning, not as much ambition but there's a enough._

'Give me one good reason why I shouldn't burn you right now. There's things in this head I'd given my oath to die before revealing.'

_Eeep! I can see that. Don't worry, Harry, I'm magically bound to keep the students' confidence, even from the Headmaster. So you are protective of your secrets as well? Slytherin it is!_

"**Slyth**-"

'**NO!**'

"-hackcoughhack-"

_Why?_

"-hackcough-"

'Two words: Collateral Damage.'

_Then just like the girl before, it'd better be _"-**Gryffindor**!"

Harry took off the hat and stood up. Deciding Ms. Granger had the right idea he "dusted off" the bloody thing for a few seconds before making his way to his table. He growled in frustration as **yet again** the only available seats were next to Hermione. He plopped down, ignoring her grimace. Finally, a pair of identical red-heads shouted out, "We've got Potter, We've got Potter!" The silence broken, the stunned Gryffindors erupted into cheers, while the twins danced merrily. After a few moments Professor McGonagall cleared her throat quickly silencing the table and the sortings continued. After the last student found his table (Slytherin), the Headmaster gave a brief (and loaded, Harry noted) speech. The students ate, introducing themselves. Harry and Hermione ate while glaring at each other, cautiously watching for any signs of violence or trickery.

"You two know each other or something?" Ron Weasley asked in-between mouthfuls.

"Yes," Harry and Hermione spat at the same time, causing their glares to deepen.

"Um, right then… I'll just leave you two be."

All too soon, the feast vanished and the Headmaster read off a few rules. The four heads of house stood and asked the prefects to lead the new students to the dorms. Harry didn't know if he was happy or upset that M was his boss at school as well as during vacation. 'Can't be helped,' he mused following the other students, 'she's bloody everywhere.'

* * *

Harry's first class was Transfiguration. He idly noted a vaguely familiar gray and black cat sitting on a stool. He promptly sat down in a chair at the front of the class, as befitted his cover as a studious pupil. He swallowed a grimace when Hermione moved to take the only other seat available in the front, the one right next to him. He couldn't help but admire how adeptly she pulled off the innocent 'know-it-all' routine.

"So, think the professor skived off on us?" A student whispered somewhere from the back. The cat flicked its ear in the direction of the comment, hopped gracefully from the stool, and morphed into Professor McGonagall. 'Well that bloody well explains why she's so bloody good at knowing things that aren't on reports,' Harry thought, remembering the informally adopted feline at headquarters.

The professor stared sternly at the blushing student. "Welcome to transfigurations. This class involves very complex and dangerous magic that requires the utmost concentration! I will not tolerate," she stared pointedly at Harry, "any foolishness in my classroom." Hermione sniggered under her breath. McGonagall's glare moved to the bushy-haired girl. "If I think any of you are putting another student at risk," she said while Hermione fidgeted under the gaze, "you will find yourselves expelled from my classroom and will not be allowed back. Is that understood?" The class murmured their acquiescence. Harry felt a little sympathy for his nemesis. He'd been under that glare and knew how horrifically unsettling it could be. "Excellent. Today you will transform matchsticks into needles."

Harry and Hermione earned five points each as they succeeded the transformation on their first attempt. Harry had learned transfiguration quite early due to its extraordinary usefulness on the field. He assumed Hermione knew how because it dramatically lowered the costs involved in her sadistic and vile plans.

'Actually,' he mused while started on his homework assignment while the rest of the class struggled to complete the transfiguration, 'that bloody well explains how she managed to replace the motel's bathtub with solid sodium coated in a fine layer of talc. Thank Merlin I'd already gotten paranoid from my uncle's little "pranks" around the house.' Subtly, Harry observed her handwriting and other tells out of the corner of his eye. He smothered a grin at the notion that she was most likely doing the same.

* * *

Back in the Gryffindor Common Room Ron was bitching about Transfiguration with his stuttering friend. "Really, what's the bloody use learning how to change matchsticks into needles? It's all bollocks anyhow." Ron said, likely due to his inability to accomplish more than turning his matchstick a bit shinier. Neville nodded in agreement, as he'd only barely managed to make his pointy but still wooden.

"Honestly, Ron," Harry winced at the bossy tone Hermione used. He'd have much preferred if she'd chosen a less grating cover. It was hard enough controlling the urge to strangle her. "First, you should enjoy learning for learning's sake!" Ron and Neville groaned. Hermione huffed. "Secondly, you can never be sure when a little trick like that might come in handy." Smiling, she snatched up a few bits of paper from the top of the table, waved her wand transforming them into slender metallic blades, and flung them expertly at Harry's eyes. Instinctively he snatched the blades out of the air and flicked his wand transfiguring them back into paper.

"See?" Hermione asked the boys primly. She gave Harry a beaming saccharine smile, turned, and whisked herself up the stairs to the girl's dormitory. She opened the door, entered, and before closing it called out. "You will start your homework now, boys, instead of waiting to the last minute and begging for my help?" Ron and Neville nervously nodded. "Good!" She replied brightly, closing the door.

Ron turned to Harry. "Blimey, mate! That bird is scary! Brilliant, but scary!"

"You have no idea," Harry mumbled under his breath.

* * *

Harry made his way to Potions feeling his trepidation growing with each step. He'd been warned by his fellow Gryffindors that the professor, Snape, was outright bigoted against Gryffindors. To make matters worse, he shared the class with both Hermione and the Slytherins. He dreaded the sheer amount of willpower he'd expend keeping himself from killing one of them. A few minutes early, Harry decided that the safest bet lay in taking a seat near the middle of the class, affording himself some safe distance from both the professor and Hermione.

Unfortunately, Hermione decided to ruin half of his plans by choosing the seat next to his own. "Can't violate tradition," she quipped with a fake smile plastered on her face. Harry bit back a groan. One way or another either he or she had been forced to sit or stand next to each other for nearly every class and gathering since they'd arrived at Hogwarts. This tended to shred both of their nerves, and neither could pass up an opportunity to tweak the other.

The rest of the students filed into the classroom. The second that the class was due to start, a greasy-haired man with billowing black robes strode into the classroom. The doors slammed shut the instant his clothing cleared them. Harry resisted smiling as Professor Snape gave a grandiose speech about his profession ending with a childish insult. He'd heard far better introductory rants from his trainers, men and women with far greater flair for dramatics.

"I see we have a new celebrity," Snape sneered staring at Harry, "I wonder if he's as brilliant as they say." Harry swallowed his growing irritation at the man's pathetic pettiness as Snape belted out a question from the last chapter of the textbook. Hermione, of course, waved her hand frantically in the air, practically bouncing. Snape ignored her, glaring about the class. He then proceeded to ask an OWL level and NEWT level question, with the same results. After around twenty seconds of silent sneering, he stared at Harry. "So, Potter, I see you are as ignorant as your father."

Harry looked at Snape with innocent eyes. "I'm sorry sir," he said, "I have no idea how ignorant my father is considering how he was murdered by a pathetic sniveling waste of flesh who had the audacity to consider itself a Dark Lord." He smiled inside as he heard the Slytherins his while he insulted Voldemort. "I do know the answer to the question, but since Ms. Granger wanted to demonstrate her exceptional lack of social acumen," he said causing Snape to raise an eyebrow and Hermione to flush, "I'd give her the opportunity. The answers are, as follows: In the stomach of a goat, the same thing, and The Draught of Living Death. Would you mind terribly, sir, telling me about my father? I mean, I haven't had the opportunity to learn anything about him because a cowardly worthless wretch, a wretch whose greatest joy in life was buggering small boys while consuming mounds of excrement, decided somewhere in the syphilitic skrewt scrotum he used as a mind to kill my parents."

Snape hissed, enraged. "Mr. Potter, fifty points from Gryffindor and a week's worth of detentions!" Harry saw Hermione stiffen beside him.

Harry smiled while he mentally added Snape to his 'to-do' list. "Sir, are you punishing me because I insulted that bottom-feeding inbred pile of slug dung Voldemort? Does the Headmaster approve of your clear support for an enemy of the State?"

Snape seethed. "No Mr. Potter, it's for cheek."

Hermione let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, that's good sir. For a while I was afraid that you were deliberately supporting the veneration of a wizard so impotent and infantile that he met his end whilst committing an act both deplorable and outrageously pathetic."

"Fifty points from Gryffindor and a week of detention for you as well, Granger!"

Harry and Hermione beamed happily at the raging professor. "Yes Professor Snape," they replied at the same time.

First Snape glared at Harry. He felt the familiar tingles and happily cluttered his surface thoughts with potions minutia and scathing insults towards Voldemort. The professor shifted his eyes towards Hermione.

Her smile widened. "You know, professor, that according to the Lockburn-Hart convention of 1924, unauthorized Legilimency is illegal in all the member countries of the ICW. Act 43 subsection a and e allow the victim to retaliate in any manner he or she finds fit, baring the Unforgivables, as well as naming a simple method of proving the attack." Hermione lifted her wand slightly. "This method, of course, can be used for up to two days after the attack due to lingering magical traces, and causes a very distinct and easily recognizable effect on the attacker. Now, I'm certain that you now the spell can be used by even the weakest of students, and is cast by –"

Turning paler than an exsanguinated corpse, Snape cut her off. "That's quite enough, Ms. Granger!"

"Are you certain?" She asked, acting the very picture of innocent studiousness. "I mean it is a very valuable defense, especially considering how many talented and dangerous supporters of Lord Scrotum-wart there are."

Harry forgave Hermione at least half of the attempts on his life. They were worth watching this sorry bastard squirm. He could feel the gears grinding in his professor's head.

"Well, I see you don't object," Hermione said with a smile. "_Ereptorum Animatum Castratae Est_!" Blue haloes appeared about Harry and Hermione's head while the potions professor fell screaming in a painfully high-pitched tone while grabbing at his bleeding crotch. He rolled about, flickering with a sickly yellow glow.

"Oh dear," Hermione said, "I don't suppose that means class is cancelled?"

"Bloody Hell!" Ron exclaimed.

* * *

Later that night Hermione walked into the Gryffindor Common room wearing a triumphant smile. Harry knew she'd been in the Headmaster's office for hours, as Professor McGonagall suggested that the two meet with Dumbledore separately. She, of course, was present to act as an informal solicitor for Ms. Granger's benefit.

"So, how'd it go?" Harry asked. He might despise her with righteous fury, but at least on the matter of Snape he found himself oddly appreciative of her devilish cunning. He'd been the target of it for so long that he found it oddly inspirational watching some other poor sod suffer.

"Oh, well, Professor Snape is still teaching and Head of Slytherin," she replied evenly. Harry drew in a breath. "The points and detentions still stand as well."

Harry narrowed his eyes. Snape just moved to the top of his 'to-do' list, followed by the Headmaster. Then he noticed Hermione's smile became just a little bit _evil_.

"Of course, the Headmaster assured me that neither he nor Snape supported Scrotum-wart. In an act of good faith, I agreed to reserve judgment and observe how equitably Snape treats students both within and without his house."

"And if you find their assurances lacking?" Harry asked.

Hermione's smile widened. "Then I believe you and I will put our differences aside for a while to ensure a properly legal and academic solution is found?"

Harry returned her smile and nodded.

* * *

The next few months passed uneventfully for Harry. Sure, Draco had been a prat and caused a little escape which resulted in Harry becoming the youngest Seeker in Hogwarts history. Sure, his dad happily mailed him a new broom fresh out of R&W… an Aston-Merlin Yggdrasil. Sure, he and Hermione happily practiced an escalating battle of on-upsmanship in the classroom and dormitory that would become legendary. Still, all-in-all it was almost a pleasant vacation.

The relative normalcy was shattered on October thirty-first. It began in Charms. Hermione smugly demonstrated her superiority yet again, this time by mastering_ Wingardium Leviosa_ on the first attempt and then 'accidentally' levitating Harry's inkpot and 'accidentally' spilling it over his robes.

Harry narrowed his eyes at Hermione's innocent smile. "_Wingardium Leviosa_," he cast with his wand pointing at the feather. Hermione's smile faltered as the front of her robes quickly flipped up and fluttered down. She hissed and spat at him while frantically making sure that nobody else saw what happened. Mollified that the embarrassment went undetected she turned back to Harry. "What did you see?" She asked angrily.

"Hello Kitty," he replied with an evil grin.

She took a step forward, moving so her face was inches from Harry's. "You. Me. After class. We finish this," she hissed.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Harry said with a smirk.

Class ended and Hermione stalked out followed by a smug Potter.

* * *

Professor Quirrel dashed into the Great Hall. "There's a Troll in the dungeon!" He promptly fainted face first into the floor. The students erupted into panic. Professor McGonagall's voice cut through the noise. "Silence! Prefects, gather the students and lead them to their Common Rooms! We will conduct a head count there. Nobody panic, the situation will be resolved shortly."

Ron turned to Neville. "Have you seen Harry?" He asked. Neville shrugged.

"I haven't seen Hermione or Harry since charms."

* * *

Graag was typical for his species, dumb, hungry and perpetually cranky. The nasty garlic-smelling man commanded him to walk about and smash any little humans he saw. Graag didn't mind smashings. Graag was actually quite fond of smashings. Graag lumbered slowly through the stone corridors looking for appropriately squishy things to smash.

The sound of screaming and crashings caught Graag's attention. He tromped towards the noise. It came from behind a door. Graag bashed in the door. Graag immediate stopped and watched as two fast moving small squishy human things threw many many bolts of pretty hurting lights at each other. Graag noticed that the room was filled with lots of broken things.

Now, it's a well known fact that Trolls are notoriously tough as well as notoriously stupid. What isn't as well known is the fact that Trolls also possess a sense of self-preservation that matches their toughness and far outweighs their lack of intelligence. Troll trainers make great use of this trait in order to keep their charges in line. Graag was by no means an atypical member of his species.

Graag watched the little masters play with each other. Graag sure as hell wasn't stepping in between them. Graag didn't want to end up like the sink he just watch blow up into lots of sharp pointy bits. Eventually, Graag heard big squishies running his way. Stinky thin squishy told Graag tall squishy would smash Graag.

Graag didn't like being smashed. Graag decided to ask little angry masters to help. Graag stood up and coughed politely to get their attention.

Hermione paused mid-spell to find the origin of the enormous cough. Her eyes widened as she noticed a Troll standing there looking at her and Harry expectantly. She was about to say something when McGonagall, Snape and Dumbledore burst through the ruined doorway.

"What… who… why are you here?" Professor Snape demanded. Hermione's mind blanked.

"Hermione and I were caught up in a deep conversation about Dynus' Law of Transfigured Potions ingredients when we noticed a troll in the hallways." Harry jumped in, explaining the situation calmly. "It chased us in here, sir, and Hermione came up with the brilliant plan to fool it into accepting her as its master in order to prevent it from harming the other students." Harry's voice stayed calm and even, despite the exertions he'd been through. "Unfortunately, the bathroom was ruined but I dare say that's better than any of our classmates getting injured. The troll here was just about to tell Hermione its name and bow to here when you rushed in." He looked at her pointedly.

Hermione walked up to the filthy troll confidently. "Name!" she belted out. The troll smiled toothily.

"Graag!"

"Kneel!" She commanded.

Graag kneeled down happily. Graag had a master who was very smashy and breaky. Graag had never felt happier. Graag looked at her with big watery cow eyes. Hermione instantly fell in love.

"It's so cute!" She squealed, oblivious to the shudders of the other four.

Minerva coughed. "Well then… good thinking I suppose. Ms. Granger… Graag… come with me. We need to fill out the appropriate paperwork to register Graag as your minion."

Hermione skipped happily after McGonagall, followed by the ponderous footsteps of her brand new troll.

Snape glared at Harry. "Tell me boy, why did the hat put you in Gryffindor instead of Slytherin?"

Harry shrugged, feeling magnanimous. "Body count, sir."

Snape nodded. "I'd suspected as much. I still loath you; just so you know."

"The feeling is mutual, I assure you," Harry replied.

Dumbledore coughed. "Well, I'm glad that you two finally agree on something. Mr. Potter, would you please return to the Gryffindor common room? I'm sure your classmates are worried. Severus, go get that leg taken care of while I fix up this mess."

Harry and Severus nodded to the headmaster, and went off their separate ways.

o/' Bond trumpet riff o/'

Harry waited in the Common Room for Hermione's return. He needed to let her know that he considered their last little match a draw, and he itched for a rematch. A few hours later she bounced happily into the room. He stood up and fixed her with his deadliest glare. Oblivious, Hermione tackled Harry in a full-body hug. Shocked, he froze under her firm embrace.

"Oh Harry, you got me my very own minion!" Hermione gushed into his ear. "I didn't know you cared." She kissed him on the cheek, hard, and then skipped up the stairs to her dorm.

Harry stood frozen in shock until Ron finally asked the question, "What the bloody hell was that all about?"

"I have no idea," Harry replied.

"So, mate, you got yourself a new girlfriend?" Ron taunted.

"Ron, if you value your life you will never speak of this again."

Ron gulped and nodded. The two of them were absolutely starkers, and bloody scary at that.

* * *

The rest of the year passed by in a pleasant blur. He'd stayed behind at Hogwarts for Christmas, but not before planting a number of clever tracking devices throughout Hermione's possessions both magical and mundane. He got a number of presents, including a fancy new watch from Q which came with an encrypted letter explaining all the new toys R&W packed into it. He also got a bomb from Hermione, which he'd disarmed before it could blow up the dorm. Inside, he found every single tracking device along with a nice letter and some chocolates. He smiled. He'd sent Hermione the exact same present, only with more chocolates and a bigger bomb, and he hoped she hadn't been as adept with demolitions. Strangely enough, somebody sent him an anonymous gift containing an Invisibility cloak. After finding out that it had belonged to his father, he placed it reverently in his trunk next to his other three similar cloaks.

Never hurts to have a backup for the backups.

He was only slightly disappointed to see Hermione return unharmed. She thanked him for his thoughtful gifts and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Feeling immediately light-headed, Harry dashed to the bathroom to analyze the toxins in her lip gloss and quickly injected the antidotes into his bloodstream.

The next couple weeks passed by as uneventfully, except Hermione's attempts on his life grew less angry and more… flirtatious, albeit no less deadly. Finally, his first Quidditch match against Slytherin arrived. Harry easily outclassed the other students on his experimental broom and was happily leading the opposing chaser on a death-defying romp when his broom chimed signaling that it detected and was neutralizing an attack. He grinned and winged over too the Gryffindor stands to watch the look on Hermione's face when he activated the countermeasures. With devilish glee he pressed the concealed stud that launched a harmonic counter-hex. He was disappointed when an explosion of purple flames erupted from the Slytherin stands instead of from Hermione. Evidently she saw the disappointment on his face, because she waved happily at him. Absently, Harry snagged the golden ball flitting nearby.

That was such a total letdown.

* * *

End of term approached, and that night Harry found himself summoned to McGonagall's office. He quickly made his way there. He knocked, and entered the office when he heard her beckon. He immediately stood at attention when he saw M, rather than her professorial persona.

"Agent Double O Hex, I have received troubling news that an agent of Voldemort will attempt to obtain an artifact known as the Philosopher's Stone. This stone is hidden in the third floor corridor behind many ingenious traps. Your mission is to prevent the stone from falling into the agents hands at all costs. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded.

"Very well. You may leave, and Merlin watch over you. Come back alive, Potter, but do not allow the stone to fall into enemy hands. Do whatever it takes to do both."

Harry turned and left the office. He dashed to his dorm to grab a few more 'kippers' and other useful devices. When he returned to the Common Room fully kitted out, Hermione was standing there waiting for him.

"It's after curfew," she stated calmly.

"That it is. I have to go now," Harry replied.

"I'm coming with you."

"No, you aren't."

"If you try to leave without me, I'll stop you. I won't let you cost us the House Cup," she said with a gleam in her eyes.

"Fine, whatever. It's not like you can't handle yourself in a fight." Harry clicked his watch activating the advanced disillusionment field. Hermione grinned and tapped her earrings and faded from view. The pair snuck their way past Filch and Mrs. Norris, around Snape and Peeves, until they found themselves at the objective doorway. Deactivating the charm, Harry motioned towards the door. Hermione faded into view and tested it.

"Locked," she said quietly. "I've got this one." She pulled out her wand and silently waved it at the wooden door. It opened noiselessly. The pair crept into the open doorway. A harp hung in midair, softly playing a song. A giant three-headed dog snoozed contentedly.

"Looks like we've got company," Hermione said with a whisper. "There's a trapdoor. I suppose we go down?"

Harry nodded and flipped open the latch. He bowed. "Lady's first."

Hermione sniffed. "You'd send a harmless girl ahead into the dark depths unprotected?"

"Harmless my arse," Harry muttered as he jumped into the hole. He landed on a soft patch of rope. He scanned the room. It was empty except for a single door. "Clear," he said. Hermione jumped down and landed slightly to the right of him. When they tried to walk to the door, the ropes leapt up and wrapped themselves tightly about their bodies.

"Bloody devil's snare!" Harry cursed.

Hermione grinned. "Harry, didn't you read the Herbology textbook? Devil's Snare hates heat and light!" She cackled maniacally. "I've got this one! _Incindeourum Maximus Con Solarum Quorum Es_!"

An explosion of heat and light burst from her wand incinerating the hapless plant where it lay. Harry chuckled. "Didn't you use that one on me in Burma?"

Hermione nodded happily. "After you!"

Harry opened the next door. The doorway lead to a large room with a high, vaulted ceiling. Flitting about in the air there appeared to a large number of birds. Harry noticed a door with a thick lock on the opposite end. Next to the door, somebody had carelessly propped a broom.

"Hmm… looks like you are supposed to fly up and get the key," Hermione mused.

"Bah… No time for silly games. Stand back." Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of yellow clay rope. He quickly unwound a length of it and expertly molded the rope around the gap where the door met the jam. He ran back and pulled Hermione into the previous room. "Stand here. He poked his wand out towards the doorway. "_Succendo_!" A blue arc flew from his wand to the bottom of the rope. With a cataclysmic explosion, the door shattered into splinters.

Hermione smiled. "Impressive Mr. Potter. I see you've devised a way to make modern explosives viable in a high-magic environment. Of course, I worked that out years ago…"

"Whatever. Shall we see the next obstacle?"

Hermione smiled and strolled casually through the open doorway, gingerly avoiding the larger bits of wood.

The floor was laid out in a giant checker-board manner, with alternating black and white squares. Harry noted the man-sized statues arrayed about, approximating a life-sized chess set. "This… could be a problem," Harry muttered, noticing the black king baring the path to the next door. Hermione nodded mutely beside him, her teeth worrying her lower lip. Distantly, Harry was struck by how utterly adorable she appeared at that moment. He ruthlessly squashed that thought down, then stamped on it, incinerated it, and consigned the ashes to the depths of his subconscious just to be safe.

"When do you suppose these things will animate and attempt to kill us?" Harry asked her, desperate to change his train of thought.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. "I'd say when we step into the room."

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Harry asked with a wicked smile.

"Maybe. But where are we going to get our hands on a baker's dozen hand-grenades?"

"A proper gentleman is prepared for any circumstances." He reached into his robes and pulled out a tiny box.

"You didn't…" Hermione said in an awed whisper.

Harry waved his wand, enlarging the box until it was the size of a small crate. After lightly tapping his wand against the lid, he opened the box revealing its contents. Hermione squealed with excitement.

"Oh Harry, you certainly know how to show a lady a good time," she said as she picked up one of the American Military Standard pineapples. Her eyes glittered with mirth and mischief.

"I am the life of the party, aren't I," he quipped back cockily.

"So, is it pull the pin, count to five, and throw, or is it pull the pin, count to three, and throw?" She asked innocently.

"As if you didn't already know. How about pull the pin, throw into the room, rinse and repeat until the box is empty and the room is rubble?"

"Ooooh, I like that idea. You take the left side and I take the right?"

"Certainly. Ready?" Harry asked.

"For you? Always." Hermione replied with a saucy wink utterly misplaced on her childlike face.

Harry and Hermione quickly divvied up the contents into two equal piles they placed against the wall next to the doorway. They took up positions on opposite sides each other and grabbed a grenade each. "Careful, these are high explosive fragmentary anti-personnel munitions. On three," Harry said, "one, two, three!" Hastily, the pair quickly began filling the room with live grenades and ten seconds after the first pin dropped the staccato roar of explosions echoed inside the chambers.

After the dust settled, Harry looked over at Hermione. She was coated in a thick white blanket. "Think that did the trick?" He asked.

Hermione peered into the room. "I don't see anything standing."

"Oh, good then. Shall we see what our next diversion is going to be?" He offered her his hand. She took it and let him help her to her feet, then placed her hand into the crook of his arm.

"But of course. Lead on."

Side by side, they crunched across the scattered rubble, taking in the fact that there wasn't a stone larger than a pebble remaining.

"Do you think we might have overdone it a bit, Harry?" Hermione asked lightly.

"Bah, there is no overkill, only kill." Harry replied.

"A man after my own heart," she shot back, laughing lightly. The opened the next door.

"Merlin, what is that stink?" Harry asked.

Hermione pointed to the eviscerated corpse of a large troll. "My guess would be that."

Harry looked at her. "Aren't you worried that's Graag?"

"Oh no, Graag has skin with a slightly lighter shade of green."

"Right. Next!" He opened the next door. The room had two walls of flame, one purple and one black. A riddle was written on the wall. At the same time they said, "That potion goes back, that potion goes forward," while gesturing at the proper bottles. Harry walked over to the set. He noted that the potion he needed to continue only had enough for one swig.

"Looks like I'm going to have to take the rest of this solo," Harry said, showing Hermione the contents. "Go back and get help."

She looked at the bottle and nodded. She looked up at Harry, no longer the maniacal killer or the bossy know-it-all. Instead she looked like a young girl worried about her friend. She chewed on her lower lip and stared at Harry with shimmering eyes. "Look, Harry… just… try not to get yourself killed," as soon as he noticed it, her face returned to normal. "After all, I wouldn't want some petty villain to rob me of the pleasure."

Harry nodded and popped a toothpick into his mouth. Hermione turned to leave, then spun about and gripped him in a tight hug. "Be careful, Harry." She whispered in his ear. Then, without another word, she quaffed a swig of her potion and walked through the flames without looking back.

Harry shook his head. "I will never, ever understand that girl." He readied himself for the worst, drank the last of the potion, and dashed through his flames.

Emerging from the frigid fire, he quickly noted that he was not alone. Standing in front of a gaudy mirror was none other than Professor Quirrel. Harry clapped softly, gaining the garlic-soaked man's attention. "Bravo professor, bravo! I'm ashamed to admit you actually had me fooled with your incompetent act."

Professor Quirrel smiled wickedly. "Ah, Mr. Potter, so good to see you. Get me the stone boy, before I do something dreadful."

"I have no idea what you are talking about. Personally, I thought you'd gone through a great deal of trouble just to stare at your ugly mug. Aren't there mirrors in the faculty bathrooms like the rest of the loos in the school? Wait, don't answer that. Between Snape, Dumbledore's outfits, and your own lack of hygiene I'm going to have to say that's a resounding no."

A voice hissed from the Quirrel's turban. "Let me out to see the boy!"

"But master…" "**Now!**"

Quirrel shakily unwrapped the turban and turned his back to Potter. Potter swallowed a bit of bile that leapt up his throat when he saw the disgusting face that grew like a sentient tumor. "Ah, Potter, I can see you are a powerful wizard, even at your age… join me and we shall rule the world together."

"Form an alliance with a jabbering clump of acne? I think I'd rather not." Harry replied.

"Fine!" The figure hissed and gestured with Quirrel's wand. Great golden ropes flew out and constricted Harry, cutting off his circulation.

Harry noted that he was in a precarious position. The blow forced his toothpick to jab into his gums. "Lord Voldemort I presume?"

"Yesssss," the face hissed.

"So, I expect you want me to talk?" He asked, wriggling in the painfully tightening binds. They were wrapped around his neck cutting off the flow of blood to his brain.

"No, Mr. Potter, I expect you to die!" The malignant wizard said as he closed in with Harry. Harry could feel his consciousness slipping. The ugly face smiled down at him. "Any last words, Mr. Potter, before I finish your pathetic family for good?"

Harry nodded, having finally worked the toothpick out and pointing at the creature's face. With the last of his breath, he gritted his teeth to keep the toothpick in his mouth. "_Avada Kedavra_!"

He noted the look of shock on Voldemort's face before the green bolt slammed into the disgusting growth. He vaguely felt the bonds vanish and heard Quirrel's corpse slump to the ground before the black overtook his vision.

* * *

Harry woke up three days later. A quick inspection of his surroundings told him that he was convalescing in the hospital ward. He noted the presence of flowers, cards, candies and a motion-activated bomb.

'I see Hermione paid me a visit,' he thought cheerfully as he subtly used a backup wand to disarm and Vanish her trap. 'Easy too, she must have really been worried about me.'

After a humorously uninformative debriefing with Albus and a far more serious discussion with M, Harry returned to his studies and polished off his exams. Respecting the amount of stress facing their fellow students, Harry and Hermione kept their attacks on each other to a minimum, concentrating on humiliating rather than maiming their target. Before he knew it, they were back on board the Hogwarts Express returning to their families.

Of course, circumstances forced them into the same compartment. After another enjoyable melee, the exhausted pair slumped into opposite seats on the compartment benches. Harry noted that the train was rapidly approaching the platform. He grinned. He'd been waiting for this moment all year.

"You know," Harry said casually, "that the moment you step off of this train a team of agents is waiting to pick you up." He grinned maliciously. "In fact, I dare say that your parents have already found pleasant accommodations with our interrogation branch."

Hermione smiled at him sweetly. "Are you so certain of that Harry?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Quite." Suddenly, he realized that he heard the sound of a helicopter over the noise of the train. Hermione stood up and opened the window. To his dismay, a rope ladder dropped and dangled within reach.

Hermione launched herself out of the window and clutched onto the ladder. "See you next semester, Mr. Potter!" She taunted as the ladder flew away. Harry lunged to the ladder and looked out to see her happily waving at him, clinging to the rope as the connected helicopter flew off into the distance.

Harry shook his head as he pulled away from the window. "See you next semester, indeed."

* * *

Omake – Two Old Guys At a Bar

Albus and Aberforth were sharing a pint and talking about their lives. The current topic revolved around Albus' acquaintance in the Secret Service.

"I tell you, brother, it's absolutely shocking how much Minnie and M look alike!" Albus said.

Aberforth nodded. "Well, you know how those spy types have managed to infiltrate everything. How do you know that Minnie isn't M?"

"Oh, I'm positive that they are two different people," Albus replied.

"How can you be so sure," Aberforth shot back.

"Minnie wears glasses, and M doesn't."

Aberforth thought for a moment. "Well, what if she took the glasses off?"

Albus scoffed. "Preposterous! How could she see if she wasn't wearing her glasses? They are two different, albeit identical, people"

The headmaster's brother nodded. "True, true."

* * *

A\N: Wow, this story got a lot more feedback than I'd expected, and far faster than I'd hoped. Thank you for all of your reviews!

A quick note: I occurred to me that I'd recently run across a story with Hermione as a 'pulp villain' in one of Clell65619's stories. I will say that I'd had the idea for this particular fiction for years, but in order to avoid any suspicions or hard feelings I'd like to give a great big hat-tip his/her way.


	3. Lunaraker

**Chapter 3: Lunaraker**

* * *

Bond smiled happily as he lined up his sights with the head of another wannabe warlord in some arse-backwards country. This particular bit of human refuse was espousing more genocidal politics, and MI-6 decided that Britain, and by proxy the rest of the world, would be better of without him. 'Now this is an assignment that defines job satisfaction.' He relaxed. 'Just move a bit more to the left…'

Click. 'Bugger,' James thought as the barrel of a pistol rested itself lightly against the back of his head.

"Mr. Bond, we have to stop meeting this way," said an entirely too familiar woman's voice.

"Good day to you, Mrs. Granger. Is there any particular reason why you are pointing a gun to my head?" He asked.

"Well, it might be the fact that you have a certain somebody under the sights of your rifle." She replied, amused. "I can't let you shoot him."

"Don't tell me you're working for that miserable bastard." James said; a bit worried. He was fond of his cranial matter, and would rather it not wind up splattered on the sidewalk.

"Perish the thought. I have standards, you know," Mrs. Granger replied slyly. "You know, Mr. Bond, you are entirely too relaxed for a man under a gun. Whatever do you have up your sleeve?"

"Mrs. Granger, I should have you know a true professional never tells; however, I'll have to admit that I'm planning on seducing you."

"Oh Mr. Bond, I would dearly love to see you try." Mrs. Granger replied coyly.

James' retort was cut off by the sound of a man laboring under a heavy load. "Mr. Bond, flirting with my wife! What do you have to say for yourself?" The Dentist asked him wryly.

"I have excellent taste?" James quipped.

"Touché!" The Dentist replied. "I see my lovely wife has managed to stymie your plans on a bit of pest control?"

"Well, yes, and I'd like to get back to it, tight schedules, armed guards, and all that." Bond said wearily.

"We can't have that, Mr. Bond," The Dentist replied. "You see, my dear daughter whipped up this most ingenious little gadget, and she's been itching to see it used in real-world environs. So, if we don't test it out here, most likely she'll just find some way of trying out on young Mr. Potter."

"Is that a threat?" James asked softly.

"Oh, no, it's more of an observation based on the previous behavior." Mr. Granger replied jovially. Bond found himself agreeing. He heard a heavy load being gently set on the rooftop. "Now," he said in far more dangerous tones, "if you ever flirt with my wife again I'll rip off your balls with a pair of pliers and keep them in my office as a trophy. That, Mr. Bond, is a threat."

"No need to worry, Mr. Granger, because if what they say is true that all daughters grow up to be their mothers then…"

"I'd suggest you don't finish that sentence while I have a gun to your head," Mrs. Granger interrupted coyly.

"Speaking of the matter, if I put down the rifle, would you mind pointing the gun elsewhere?" James asked.

"I don't suppose that would hurt," she said. Bond slowly put the rifle down, lamenting the loss of a perfect shot. He felt he barrel withdraw. He turned and looked at the pair. The Dentist appeared to be fiddling with an absolutely mish-mash combination of a miniature naval cannon, quartz crystals, copper wires, tubing, and bloody glass bottles containing what appeared to be giggling fairies.

"What the bloody hell is that thing?" James asked.

"I haven't the foggiest," Mr. Granger replied, "but it's supposed to be rather impressive if it works."

Bond eyed it with some trepidation. "You know, these sorts of contraptions never work out the way they are supposed to, usually to the misfortune of whoever's about it."

Mrs. Granger nodded slowly. "We've tried to explain these sorts of things to our daughter, but she's stubborn that way." She laughed lightly. "Really, you wouldn't believe the things she tried to do before she went to Hogwarts. Dear, remember the time she tried to kidnap the President of the United States and hold him for ransom?"

Her husband scratched his head. "Was that the time with the lasers, or the time with the genetically-enhanced carnivorous land-sharks?"

"Land-sharks," she replied.

He chuckled. "Oh yes, took us ages to settle with the Secret Service. I think we grounded her for a month over that one."

"Right, well, I hate to disturb these touching memories," James said with a shudder, "but it appears that there's an influx of APC's and troops down there. I'm afraid we may have been sussed out."

Mr. Granger glanced over the ledge. "It appears you are correct. Well, if our daughters device doesn't work we may have to go with plan B." Mrs. Granger nodded, and pulled out a small black box from her purse. She flipped it open, and pressed a small button on the side. "Alright dear, our exit should be appearing shortly. Do… well, whatever it is that you are supposed to do to make that thing go."

Mr. Granger nodded. James watched worriedly as The Dentist ambled over to the monstrosity, pointed it vaguely in the direction of the target and his assembled protective detail, and pressed a prominent red button. The device shimmered, hummed, glowed, gibbered ('gibbered?' Bond thought. 'That's a new one.') and chugged, before falling silent. Bond noted that the pixies were no longer in their glass container.

"I don't think it worked." James said.

Mr. Granger's response was cut off by an unearthly wailing from the street. Mrs. Granger peered over the ledge and paled. "Oh, that is most unsanitary. Dear, remind me to ground our princess again. I do believe that goes against most laws of man and God."

Mr. Granger, against his better judgment, looked over the ledge once the wailing became interspersed with echoing growling and crunching. He turned a most unhealthy shade of green. "I agree."

Bond began nervously backing away from the edge of the building as he noticed slimy tentacles starting the creep over the gutters. "I don't suppose you'd mind company overmuch," he said as he gently discouraged one persistent pseudo-pod's exploration with the barrel of his rifle, "with your hopefully soon-to-be appearing exit?"

Mr. Granger smiled as the sound of a helicopter's blades grew rapidly closer. "Not at all, Mr. Bond, not at all. After all, we could be co-workers one day!"

James nodded. "Don't tell that to Harry, though, he might have a heart attack at the venerable age of twelve," he shouted over the engine noise.

Mrs. Granger quickly climbed up the ladder, followed by Mr. Granger and Bond. "I'll make you a deal," The Dentist shouted down at James while they clambered hastily up the rope, "I'll send you a picture of when I tell my daughter, if you send me one when you tell Mr. Potter!"

Safely in the cargo-hold of the helicopter, Bond offered Mr. Granger his hand. The Dentist pulled an over-sized hand-grenade from his jacket, pulled the pin, and dropped it out of the bay. "Mustn't leave evidence!" Then, he grasped James' hand in his own and pumped it fiercely. "We have a deal!" He bellowed out, the explosion covering his word. Mrs. Granger smiled softly. James noticed the words, "Boys will be boys," on her lips, but he couldn't hear her over the sound of the helicopter blades.

* * *

M stared down at Harry's beaten and bloodied form as the medics wheeled him away for treatment. "Agent Double o' Hex, what happened? You were supposed to be on a simple vacation!" She asked sternly.

Harry coughed. "It appears that Hermione discovered my location and took it upon herself to 'spice up a boring day' by siccing a pack of mutant aardvarks on me. Oh, but she won't have the last laugh. Oh no, events are already in order that will wipe that insufferably smug grin off of her lips… oh yes, she may have won that battle but the war will be mine!" Harry began laughing maniacally.

"Mr. Potter, you will stop that this instant!" M shouted crossly. "Maniacal laughter is unbecoming of an agent, and I won't tolerate such unprofessional behavior!" Harry immediately sobered. "Much better Agent Double O' Hex; now promise me that whatever revenge you cooked up won't cause **another** international incident. I've my hands full enough dealing with the French."

Harry couldn't meet her eyes.

"Mr. Potter…"

* * *

"James," M's pretty blond secretary called out to him as he walked into the MI-6 main office. He noted she apparently had been chatting with the front desk receptionist before noticing his entrance. "M wants to see you in her office. She seemed quite… perturbed. You haven't done anything… naughty… again, have you?" She asked him coyly.

"Not that I know of, Moneypenny," Bond replied as he grinned charmingly at her, eliciting a faint blush. He paused for a second in thought, then sighed and shook his head. "I had nothing to do with the Dubai incident. I'll see what she wants," he said resignedly. He took the elevator to her office, and knocked on M's door.

"Enter!" M barked out. 'Oh dear, she does sound exceptionally pissed,' James thought worriedly. He opened the door and walked into her office. He noticed that M wore an especially stern expression, one reserved for agents who managed to create a particularly sticky situation for the agency. He'd faced that look more than a few times in his career.

"You wanted to see me?" He asked.

"Agent Double O' Seven, it is time you put a leash on your 'nephew's' pre-adolescent flirtation."

James swallowed. "Now, M, you know how boys will be boys and girls will be girls. It's perfectly normal for…"

"Agent Bond," M interrupted, "throwing rocks and putting gum in a girl's hair is 'perfectly normal.' Hacking into the NSA database and listing a girl, along with providing detailed information about her current location and itinerary, as a clear and present danger to the President's life whilst simultaneously hacking into the CIA's 'operations slush fund' to pay for a full mercenary operation is most certainly NOT!"

James chuckled. "Well, I'm certain he didn't have to fudge too many details on Miss. Granger…"

"That is not the point!" M said. Bond wryly noted that she didn't contradict his statement. "Furthermore, he also managed to place a hideously complex transfiguration layered with an illegal portkey charm onto her 'delicates,' the end result of which simultaneously transformed her into a baby panda and deposited her in the PRC zoo!" Bond snorted in barely restrained amusement. "James, this is not a laughing matter!"

Bond tried valiantly to smother his chuckles. "Of course not, M."

M glared sternly at her agent. "Mr. Bond, if they are doing these things now, can you imagine the devastation the pair will cause once they mature enough to have **actual** sexual tension?"

James paused for a moment, and then shuddered. "I see your point. So what do you expect me to do, spank him? Make him sit in the corner? Take away his Nintendo?"

M glared at her subordinate. "No, Mr. Bond, I've a much better idea. I expect you to act like a responsible guardian and have a discussion with Mr. Potter about how a proper young man acts around girls. One sufficient to correct his behavior regarding Miss. Granger."

James' laughs died mid-chuckle. "You mean you want me to have 'The Talk' with the boy?"

M nodded sternly.

"Bloody Hell! I doubt his balls have dropped! I don't think that…"

M cut him off, "Agent Double O' Seven! You **will** curtail your charge's behavior! That is an order! I've just finished communications with the Grangers and they also understand and agree about the severity of the situation! This last little escapade nearly caused not one but two international incidents! I will not tolerate any more! Our government has had to appease not only the French Ministry but the American's as well! This ends here!"

"The French Ministry as well?" Bond asked. M nodded. James sighed. "Very well then, I'll sit Harry down for 'The Talk.' Is there anything else that you want me to do?"

"You will keep a closer eye on your charge and ensure that he fully understands that this can never happen again," M ordered. "I will leave any further discipline of Mr. Potter's to your discretion."

Bond nodded, understanding the severity of the matter. "I'll do so. So, where is young Mr. Potter now?" Bond asked.

"In the medical wing, recovering from a… tongue lashing." M said wryly.

Bond raised his eyebrow at his superior's euphemism. "You shot him?"

"No, Mr. Bond," M said sternly, "although I admit I was sorely tempted." Her mouth drew into a tight line. "It appears that his actions were in response to an 'unprovoked' attack on his person by a number of genetically modified class-W aardvarks with pre-conditioned feeding-aggression triggers responding solely to his pheromone signature." M's lips were thin, but the corners of her mouth twitched upwards. "They apparently were also granted significant enhancements to the length, flexibility and tensile strength of their tongues."

Bond swallowed his laughter. "You call that pre-adolescent flirtation? Why there are people who'd pay-"

"Out!" M interrupted loudly, pointing at the door. "You have your orders!"

James hastily stood and left M's office, wisely keeping his laughter to himself.

* * *

Hermione grumbled internally while rolling her eyes. She nodded mindlessly as the no-necked cookie-cutter agent lectured her about why it was not appropriate for young ladies to hire mercenary outfits with CIA money, especially for the purposes of destabilizing the U.S. government. 'Just like Ms. Chaucey, my fourth-grade teacher, going on and on about "Not playing God" and "Creating man-eating mutant kittens is both morally wrong **and** exceedingly poor taste." Unimaginative Philistines stifling my natural intellectual talents, the lot of them! Regardless, it should be quite obvious to the Americans that I had nothing to do with the mess, considering I'd never establish an alibi by hiding myself as an exhibit in a PRC zoo!'

"Are you paying attention, Miss. Granger?" The agent asked.

"Yes sir," she replied, taking a drink from her water cup. Hermione swished the water around in her mouth a few times before swallowing. She still hadn't managed to get the taste of bamboo out.

'The last round may go to you, Harry, but the game's not finished yet. Oh no, it is most certainly not over!'

"Young lady, cease that line of thought this instant! I know signs of impending maniacal laughter!" The agent barked, interrupting her thoughts.

Hermione nodded contritely, and re-focused on appearing properly remorseful. She idly noted that the urge to play with old tires still haunted her.

* * *

James walked into his 'nephew's' hospital room. Harry lay covered in bandages, furiously typing away at a laptop he'd somehow procured. Bond noticed that the boy was so engrossed in whatever he was doing that Harry didn't notice his entrance. James walked over and gently took the computer from his ward. He ignored Harry's sputtered protests as he perused the document in front of him.

"Now this is a bloody vicious series of events you've cooked up." James looked down at Harry and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "This is certainly a more… aggressive… set of plans than one would expect for a simple recruitment operation."

Harry flushed. "Sod recruitment, it's more of a contingency."

Bond shook his head. "Harry, this has to stop. M was most," he paused, as if searching for the correct term, "displeased with your previous contingency. I'd rather not see her reaction to this one." He looked around quickly, and then dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "How did you manage it, anyhow? You've hardly the clearance to access the equipment you'd need to pull off a stunt of that magnitude." Harry mumbled something unintelligible. Bond shook his head. "I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't catch that."

Harry looked abashed. "I sort of appropriated your clearance."

"You what?" Bond shouted. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, massaging it between his fingers. "M was right," he muttered, "this has gone too far." He favored his charge with an appraising look. "Very well, Harry, I can see that you are starting to become a young man, and as such you need to be informed on the proper way to behave around the object of your affections."

Harry stared at his 'uncle' like he'd sprouted bushy brown hair. "Object of my affections? Have lost your bloody mind?"

Bond continued, ignoring Harry's outburst. "Now, Harry, there comes a time when a young man begins to notice that girls are," he paused dramatically, "different; different in a most interesting manner." He pulled a chair over beside Harry's bed and sat down. "Since I'm your guardian, it's best that I'm the one to explain these special," again pausing dramatically, "facts of life to you."

Harry paled. "Oh dear Merlin, you don't mean…" Harry's voice trailed off.

James nodded. "Yes, Harry: The Talk."

"Kill me now," Harry whispered.

Bond smiled, ignoring his 'nephew's' discomfort. "You're a lucky man. You have the opportunity to learn from a true master about art of seducing and satisfying a woman." Bond's smile widened and he spoke with absolute confidence. "First, there are the Signs." He gave the word 'Signs' an almost religious reverence. "Do you think it coincidence that young Miss. Granger attacked you with creatures both symbolically phallic and extraordinarily orally gifted? When a woman looks at you with…"

Harry shrunk into his covers, his hopes of avoiding this particular discussion crushed like a first-year Slytherin under Graag's club.

Hours later, his 'uncle' left him, promising to continue their discussion when he returned the next day. Harry shuddered, causing him to wince at the spikes of pain his movement drew from his injuries. 'Merlin's cancerous left testicle, I will never want to do… **that**… with Hermione!'

Hermione, curled up underneath her blankets and clutching her stuffed platypus (she wouldn't touch her old favorite: a plush, overstuffed panda), fumed in a combination of embarrassment and outrage. Not a half-hour after her parents rescued her from more lectures by irate foreign officials; they decided the time had come to have a serious talk with their only daughter about 'the delicate dance between a man and a woman'. It wasn't a clinical affair, either; her parents, knowing that she'd researched the physiology around the reproductive organs years before, instead chose to educate her on the far more subjective elements of the human mating ritual. The fact that they continually used Harry as a point of reference and/or example didn't help her composure in the least. Neither did their ill-concealed amusement.

She shuddered and clutched her platypus tighter, while ruthlessly suppressing a vague craving for bamboo shoots. 'Merlin's cancerous left testicle, I will never want to do… **that**… with Harry!'

* * *

The rest of the summer passed relatively uneventfully for Harry. His 'uncle' expressly forbid Harry from leaving the apartment without an escort, although he still allowed him the freedom to work and train in the main MI-6 headquarters. Lacking anything better to do with his time, Harry completed his summer assignments and read up on the following year's texts. He was dismayed by the sheer number and frankly fictional accounts of his DADA texts. 'This Lockheart fellow appears to be full of himself,' Harry mused, 'but if he's not talking out his arse, I might actually learn something useful.' Regardless, he learned a few more tricks from the various black-ops personnel, and found himself loaded with a new grab-bag full of interesting devices from Q.

"Don't worry too much about M," Q told him, "she has this unfortunate tendency to get flustered whenever the words 'international' and 'incident' are spoken around her. Especially when used in conjunction with, or worse adjacent to, one another. She'll forget all about it once Bond returns to his normal tricks, and you'll go back to being on her good list again." Harry nodded, while shrinking packing up the assorted gadgets handed to him.

Finally, time came for Harry to leave the apartment for Hogwarts. Just as he was about to activate the portkey, a loud cracking noise signaled the arrival of an unexpected guess. Harry flung himself to the left and drew his wand. He found himself holding a very flustered house-elf at wand point.

"Oh, Mister Harry Potter sir is a great wizard indeed." The curious creature stuttered out. "Dobby cannot let Mister Harry Potter sir goes to Hogwarts! He is in great danger, he is!"

Harry stopped, and scratched his head. "Er… I'm fairly used to danger, so I believe I'll be on my way now, but thank you for the warning."

The frantic elf tugged on its ears. "Oh no Mister Harry Potter sir, Dobby can't let you do that!"

Harry shook his head and grabbed his portkey. "Well, Dobby, I'm afraid you don't have much say in the matter. I'd suggest you leave now."

Dobby shook his head. "Dobby is trying to save you!"

Harry sighed. "Fine, right, whatever." He waved off the house-elf's concern. "I can take care of myself, you know." Harry shrugged and waved at the pitiful creature with a smile. "Goodbye, Dobby," he said as he activated the portkey, vanishing from the room.

Dobby slammed his head against the floor repeatedly. "Oh, Dobby must be punishing himself! Dobby has done a bad thing, and Dobby still didn't stop Mister Harry Potter sir!" With one last mournful self-inflicted concussion, Dobby snapped his fingers and disappeared.

* * *

Harry boarded the Hogwarts express, shaking his head over the elf's antics. He plopped himself down in an empty compartment and waited for the rest of the students to arrive. About a half-hour later, he saw the first trickle of students arriving at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, mostly Ravenclaw upperclassmen and the occasional over-excited first-year. He scanned the crowd through the window, and was releaved at the absence of a familiar mass of hair. 'Perhaps she'll decide to sit somewhere else for this ride. I really don't think I can face her right now, considering that bloody Talk my 'uncle' gave me.'

His thoughts were disturbed by the sound of the compartment door opening. He sucked in his breath, then released it in relief as he noticed a small blonde girl with wide and unfocused eyes walk in.

"Oh, hello," the girl said airily. "Do you mind if I sit here?"

Harry shrugged. "Go ahead." He couldn't see any harm in it. He noticed her struggling with her trunk. "Oh, sorry, let me help you." Harry stood up and helped the slight girl set her trunk up in an overhead compartment. "So, is this your first year?"

The girl nodded. "Oh yes, but daddy's told me all about Hogwarts, including its dirty little secrets." She talked about it in the same way one discusses the weather.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "It's dirty little secrets?" He grinned. "You'll have to tell me all about them on the trip."

She smiled and looked slightly to the left of him. "I won't have to, but I would like to, if you don't mind."

Harry blinked. "Um, right. So, I'm Harry Potter. You are?"

"I think I'll be Harry Potter too, if you don't mind? It looks like fun," the girl replied.

"Um… sure. Er, who were you before you decided to be Harry Potter too?" He asked, while thinking: 'Just smile and nod and back away slowly from the crazy person, Harry.'

"Luna Lovegood, daughter of the world-renowned investigative journalist Xenophillius Lovegood," she answered blithely.

"Oh… um… I'm sorry, I don't think I've ever heard of him." Harry said.

Luna smiled. "I wouldn't have expected you too. You aren't a world."

Harry's confused retort was cut short by interjection of an all-to-familiar voice.

"His ego is certainly large enough to qualify," Hermione interrupted snarkily. Harry didn't bother hiding his groan as she casually deposited her trunk in an overhead compartment and sat down next to him. Harry scooted closer to the window. Hermione ignored his retreat and smiled at the blonde girl. "Hello, I'm Hermione Granger. Are you a first year?" Luna nodded. "What's your name?"

"Harry Potter," she said happily. Harry didn't bother hiding his grin at Hermione's nonplussed expression.

Hermione blinked a few times in confusion. Finally, her eyes lit up in understanding, and she gave Luna a very sympathetic look. "I'd heard lots of magical children were named after Harry, but I'd never thought that anyone would be cruel enough to name their daughters after him." Harry sniggered. Hermione huffed. "Honestly Harry, it's not funny. Think about the childhood the poor girl had, how would you like to be named Lily?"

"Why that would be lovely!" Luna exclaimed happily. She looked over at Harry. "Don't you think so Lily?"

Hermione sniggered. "I quite agree. I think Lily is a wonderful name for him."

Luna beamed. "Well it's only fair he has a new name now, considering how I decided to be called Harry Potter for now." Hermione stared at her in confusion. "Well, I used to be Luna Lovegood," the girl explained patiently, "but I decided that I'd avoid an attack from the Leather-lipped Snorklepsies."

Hermione looked at Harry and mouthed, "Leather-lipped Snorklepsies?" Harry shrugged.

"Um, there's no such thing as Snorklepsies," Hermione said in strained tones, "leather-lipped or not."

Luna cocked her head and considered the girl sitting on the other side of the compartment. Finally, Luna gave Hermione a deeply pitying look as she reached out and patted Hermione's hand consolingly. "I see the Ministry's elite squad of Rowling Dumdingers has managed to brainwash you into becoming a mindless zombie parrot like the rest. If left untreated you could find yourself waxing rhapsodic over washing the underpants of Red-Crested Dooshieprat; you must seek treatment, cleanse your poisoned mind and skip happily amongst the sparkly Rorschach's Bingblots of truth." Hermione looked like she was somewhere in-between bewilderment and outrage. Luna looked over to Harry. "Don't you agree, Lily?"

Harry decided to ignore his new nick-name in favor of rattling his nemesis. "I certainly do," he replied sagely. Luna gave him a dreamy smile.

Hermione sputtered a bit before managing to regain focus. "Honestly! How can you say that, I mean, how do you know? I mean…" It was obvious to Harry that Hermione hadn't quite re-booted her brain.

Luna smiled dreamily (Harry noted she seemed to do that a lot) and pulled a newspaper. "Oh, my father, Xenophillius Lovegood, or is it Xenophillius Potter for now," Luna mused absently, "is a world-renowned investigative journalist and the owner slash head editor of The Quibbler." Luna said 'The Quibbler' in the same reverent tones the devout give gods and politicos give poll results. "The Quibbler is the foremost antidote to the diarrhea the Daily Prophet spatters about."

Hermione eyed the paper like it was a marriage offer from Malfoy. "And I suppose it tells us all about leather-lipped snorklepsies?"

Luna shook her head. "Oh, no, not this paper. That was last month's special edition."

Harry was almost scared to ask. Almost. "So, what's in this paper?"

Luna smiled. "Well we haven't decided on a proper name for them yet, although I favor lash-tongued snarkvaards. Father thinks that they are the devilish product of cunning transfiguration by an up and coming Dark Lord. While I personally agree with the up-and-coming Dark Lord theory, I think they are actually the combined product of Muggle genetic science and advanced charmed work." She continued, oblivious to the stunned looks on Harry and Hermione's faces. "Anyhow, we recently uncovered evidence that they were used in some sort of attack this summer at an undisclosed French beach." Luna showed them a picture of one of the creatures, misinterpreting their sharp inhalations as horror. "Oh, they may look ugly to the unenlightened, but from an aesthetic viewpoint they neatly symbolize the blossoming awareness of a virginal girl fumbling towards true womanhood." Hermione's face turned a sickly shade of green, making Harry wonder if his own had done the same. Luna blithely continued her dialogue. "Now, there was a hasty cover-up, which less illuminated people attribute to the fact that the attack occurred in the presence of Muggles. Father disagrees, noting the presence of muggle agents." She pointed to another photo revealing an MI-6 extraction team carrying Harry's battered body onto a helicopter. Fortunately, his face and other features were blocked by the frantic crew. "Additionally, there's the further indication of a world-wide conspiracy. Almost immediately after the attack, the American Secret Service went on high alert. Even more damning, the alert coincided with the mysterious appearance of what can only be called an exceptionally bushy panda cub in a PRC zoo," Luna said, showing Harry and Hermione a picture of the panda. It was definitely over-qualified for term bushy, mused Harry. More like 'Hermione-esque.' He wondered if that was a real word, and if not, what he'd have to do to make it one. "And of course the tension vanished from the Americans at the exact moment the panda cub vanished from the zoo as mysteriously as it'd appeared. Strangely, PRC Minister of Magic Hung Lo expressed no outrage, even though pandas are a protected species." Luna looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Perhaps the cub's over-exuberant fur offended his sensibilities? Both he and his evil doppelganger Lo Wang are notoriously traditional."

Harry and Hermione stared at the girl. "How did you find all that out?" Harry stuttered out a moment before Hermione.

"I told you, my father is a world-renowned investigative journalist," Luna said as if that explained everything. Harry and Hermione turned to stare at each other for a moment, and then both looked to the blonde girl.

"How much for a subscription?" They asked simultaneously.

* * *

Harry and Hermione spent the rest of the train ride reading over past issues of The Quibbler that Luna gleefully provided. All thoughts of revenge were banished by the shockingly accurate (albeit oddly named) creatures and accounts published.

"Merlin," Hermione muttered, "they've even got a bit here on the Dubai incident."

Harry pulled himself away from the article on the vanishing panda cub (which the zoo-keepers dubbed Péng Sōng – Pinyin for 'fluffy') to look at Hermione. He pictured the panda in her place, and silently vowed to have the article framed. "The Dubai incident? My uncle mentioned something about that."

"I'm sure he would," she said absently, "seeing as he was there."

"And?" Harry asked, glancing over her shoulder in an attempt to read the article.

"Oh, nothing, it was just a partially successful field test, that's all," Hermione mused. "Unexpectedly uncontrolled, but I should have the kinks worked out for the next run. Shame there isn't a picture."

Harry decided to drop the subject. He was grateful she hadn't tested it out on him. He picked up another issue of The Quibbler after gently setting down the one he was currently reading. He made sure to keep the paper open to the picture of Péng Sōng, having grown quite fond of it. The sight of Hermione as a fluffy panda cub sitting on the other side of the planet filled him with warm fuzzies.

"Definitely framing that picture," Harry murmured to himself.

"What was that?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Oh, nothing, just talking to myself," Harry replied innocently. 'I wonder how much I'll have to pay for the originals,' he mused as the train chugged towards Hogwarts.

* * *

Harry and Hermione separated from Luna as she left to follow the rest of the first-year students. He shuddered as he saw the skeletal winged horse-things tethered to the carriages. He turned to Hermione. "Why do you suppose they've got such ugly buggers hitched to the wagons?"

Hermione stared at him like he'd sprouted blond hair and a dreamy expression. "What do you mean, Harry? Those are horseless carriages drawn by magic. There's nothing tethered to them."

"No, I can quite clearly see that they are pulled by those ugly buggers right there," Harry replied. "Can't you see them?"

"Sure they are Harry," Hermione said condescendingly. "I think maybe you need to see Madame Pomfrey when we get to Hogwarts. Obviously you've suffered an overdose of Miss. Lovegood, or it's contagious."

Harry shook his head and entered the carriage. Hermione hopped in after him. "Why do you insist on following me everywhere?" He asked her.

"Because it bothers you," she replied with a smug smile.

"I still hate you, you know."

Hermione ignored him while muttering something about bamboo and old tires under her breath. Before the carriages started moving, they were joined by Ron and Neville. The three boys talked about Quidditch while Hermione buried her nose in one of the DADA texts and the carriage carried them into the next semester.

* * *

A\N: I am… amazed. Utterly stupefied, even. I never thought that my little story would be so popular. Thank you for all the reviews.

Oh, and to those of you who suggested that I don't strictly follow canon… argh! Originally I was stumped on what I was going to do for years two and, especially, three because the major plot points of both would be quickly resolved by our erstwhile heroes. Now, I've got so much bubbling around in my head its taking me even longer to write it all out.

Lucky you, I suppose.

Yeah, I know this is short, but I've taken so bloody long getting everything written out that I'd rather not wait another month before updating. Unfortunately, I'm going to break my one-chapter-per-year rule in order to speed up updates. This covers the summer before Harry's second year, as well as the trip to Hogwarts.


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